Angel Saints the Beginning
by silvermagic210
Summary: Conner and Murphy show up at their mothers house carrying two bundles. Who are these two little babies and who is their father? Conner or Murphy? will the men settle down or continue on as the Saints and train the kids as their successors? I dont own The Saints i just play in the sand box every now and then Co- Written with my best friend Lauren


It was a long time before the wailing stopped. It was late at night, the stars twinkling above, bathed in the light of a half moon, and the cold Irish winds were racing over the hills, rippling in the grass. The cries were sharp through the night as the car turned sharply down a dirt road and pulled to a stop infront of a small gathering of cottages, separated only by a thin veil of trees. Before the car was even put into park, a thick woman with messy red hair and a long shot gun flew from the door, the barrel pointed right at the wailing car.

"It's us Ma! Put down the gun!"

"Jesus fuckin' Christ woman!"

"Lord's fuckin' name!" the woman snapped sharply, waving the gun towards her younger son. She watched as they pulled two screaming bundles from the car. She stared disbelieving as it dawned on her that they were _babies._

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," she muttered, her fingers reaching up to pinch the bridge of her nose. She moved to the side and ushered her sons in, along with their bundles. She swirved her head from left to right, making sure none of the neighbors were trying to be nosey before she dove into the house, slamming the door.

"Wha' in all bloody hell have ye done!" the woman hissed, glaring at her two miserable, guilt ridden sons. Both boys looked like hell. Black ringed eyes, stubbled faces, and completely terrified expressions. Murphy was the one to jump right on the question.

"Ma, she was fuckin' crazy! She jus' shows up, and throws 'em in 'ar arms, an jus' walks away!" He said, motioning heavily with one arm at the door, as though the culprit woman were on the other side with her ear to the door. Conner picked up right where his brother stopped.

"They won' stop cryin' Ma! We aren't meant to raise babies Ma, I mean, we're on a mission from God – "

"Quiet!" she cried waving the shotgun around and the boys ducked protectively around the squalling bundles. She sighed heavily and propped the shotgun against the wall, and turned to the boys, waving them into chairs. She settled heavily into a chair and reached for a clear bottle on the table. Taking a long drink of the liquid she grimaced against the burning in her throat before reaching for the bundle in her oldest's arms. He looked at her incredously.

"Ma, are ya drinkin _gin?_" Conner said, his eyes wide as he cradled the bundle closer to his side. She glared at him as though he were a fool to dare to challenge her. She held her arms out purposefully.

"And what if I am? They aren't going to stop cryin' while _you_ got'em." She snapped. Conner still looked reluctantly up as his Ma, the screaming bundle wailing into his side. Murphy jumped up, practically throwing the bundle into his Ma's awaiting arms.

"Please, _fuck_ Ma, make 'er stop, just make 'er stop!" he half-yelled, slumping into the chair and taking a long swig of the gin on the table, ignoring the nasty look his brother gave him.

"Ah, it's a girl is she?" his Ma said softly, settling down carefully. She pulled back the blanket the girl was wrapped in to gaze at the red-faced, screaming little one. Fuzzy red hair stuck up in all directions from the cacoon that incased her. She could feel the tiny arms pushing against the blankets, trying to reach out to the woman holding her. It made her smile.

She lifted a finger to the frazzled red hair and gently brushed through it. The little girl tilted her head, her mouth working, as though she were searching for something. Ma thought for a moment before lifting her head with a feral look on her face. She shifted from one son to the next, neither looking anxious to have her gaze on them.

"Have ye even fed 'em?" she asked, her eyes flickering dangerously. The boys looked at eachother in panic, their mouths moving in a way that shows they didn't have anything to say. They looked from their mother and back to eachother and finally realized there was nothing to say that could excuse the cries. Conner had his mouth opened first.

"Oh fer Christ sake Ma, how ar we suppose ta –"

"Hey, we didna ask fer two screamin' lil bastards –"

"_Enough!_" she screamed, startling even the babies into quiet sobs. She stood, cradling the child in the crook of her arm and just glared at the boys as she moved to the fridge to pull out a bottle of milk. She maneuvered herself over to her younger son, and gently gave her over to him, much to his dismay.

"Christ Ma, no I dun – "

"Shut up and hold 'er 'head." The woman snapped, handing the bottle of milk to him. She handed him a cloth and wrapped it over the top of the bottle. "Now hold her head and tip the bottle slowly -_slowly Murpy! –_ and let her suck the milk through the cloth."

When she was sure that Murphy wouldn't drop the baby or waste her milk, she moved to her oldest and motioned for the child, which he gratefully handed over with a grimace on his face. The girl wasn't in her hands before Ma could tell what was wrong. She felt no shame in slapping her son upside the back of the head, which made his brother laugh at his misfortune.

"You dumb mop! She's wet!" Giving the little girl back to her son, Ma went to retrieve some clean cloths. She came back and changed the child with a quickness and efficiancy that neither man expected the woman would still have after so many years. She prepared another bottle for Conner and handed it to him, subconsciously entrusting him with the child more so than her younger son. Which made Murphy scowl.

Ma settled back into her chair and looked over her boys. They looked tired and frazzled, and they looked as though they wanted nothing more than a stiff drink and one long drag on a cigarette. That just wouldn't do, not one bit if they planned on raising these children…_did_ they plan on raising these children? She sighed heavily; she was far too old to do this again.

"Now," she began, leaning back into her chair with her heavy bottle of gin. There was first one swig, then another, and suddenly she was five down before she had collected her thoughts enough to sensibly talk to her sons seriously. "What do you two idiots plan on doing wit' these girls?"

The two men stared at eachother for a long time. Their Ma had the thought that they were reading eachothers minds. Since the day they were born, they would always share that same blank face. Murphy's eyes would flicker occasionally and Connor's lips were drawn taunt sometimes, but it was always _that look_. She had come to learn what it meant very quickly.

"No." They said in unison, turning to face their Ma at long last. She lifted a brow, attempting to keep her jaw off the floor. This was not how she had raised her children. Sure, they had been little bastards from the moment of conception, but they knew above everything in this world to respect women, and obey to Lord. And it appeared that they couldn't even do _that_ anymore. Sweet Mother Mary she had to fuck with the little bastards. Hell, she carried and raised them, she had every damn right. And if she could convince them to keep the little critters while she was at it, then it was just a bonus.

"Oh, so not only do you sin and jump into bed with a woman out of wedlock, but not your just willing to throw the poor creatures spawned from yer union out in the cold?" she jumped from her chair and glared at her sons with new found fury. Connor looked up at her with pleading eyes, and a mouth trying to piss out pointless excuses, while Murphy just sat, stubborn and silent, his gaze hard, as though he were not going to give in. Well, she'd see about that.

"I can't believe ye two would even _think_ of leaving these little ones. You know what yer Da said the day he left?" she said, she eyes wide and her voice poised high, as though she were fighting back the tears. Good Lord, was she really that horrible of a woman that she screwed with her boys this much?

"Oh fuck Ma, not this shit again –"

"You can't keep pulling this shit woman –"

"_He said_," she said, loudly drowning out their protests. "He said, "Now I want ye boys to do me proud. Be a man and admit when yer wrong and take the punishment that God deems fit ta give ye." She said, stalking around the table, trying to put on her best "Ma is on the edge" act. She clutched at her heart dramatically, as though thinking of Noah's final words wounded her still.

Connor looked at her, pleading her to stop, she could hear it now _Please Ma, don't bring Da into this_, and Murphy looked at her with a slack jaw and a look of disbelief as though he couldn't believe she had stooped so low. Yes, she was a horrible woman, they would get over it.

"And now," she let her breath hitch. "Here ye bastards are, shamin' your father's good name, and given yer mother grief!" She let out a slight sob before she reached for the gin, looking to drown her sorrows away. Well, really her buzz was starting to wear off, and she was the best actress after she'd had a bit to drink.

"No Ma," Murphy said as Connor began to look ready to cry. "Now look here woman, we can't raise 'em! If we could, ye know we would, but we can't. Now that's final Ma. We'll give 'em to the orphanage." He looked over at his brother, looking for confirmation. However, his brother didn't look very supportive. He still looked like he wanted to cry, which meant he was guilty…

"Oh fuckin' Christ Connor, no!" he half-shouted. His brother always cracked when he felt guilty. And he'd be damned if his mother didn't know it and take full bloody advantage of it. He glared at his twin, sending all the backbone he could over their mental wavelengths that always seemed to be in tune with eachother. Connor could not be guilted into this one. This was not something that they could change. What were they suppose to do; raise little ones by day and commit serial murder by night? Oh Lord, their mother would go for that.

"Lord's fuckin name, Murphy!" his mother scowled, her fake tears already gone, replaced by fury. All the times she told them to watch their damn mouths. On the other hand, maybe this wasn't such a good idea; two young lasses taken the Lord's name in vain left and right. Oh sweet Jesus, there was no way in hell these boys were doing it by themselves.

"Y'know, I worked so _hard_ to raise ye boys alone. And ye never had a father to go to…"

"Ma, just stop, please –" Murphy began, but she silenced him with a wave of her hand.

"No, let yer Ma speak 'er peace." She said, truly believing what was coming out of her mouth this time. She had always been sad that Noah hadn't been there for them growing up. It is horribly awkward to have to go to your Ma to ask about why your little winker-woo gets hard sometimes, or when you wake up one morning after a very _interesting_ dream and the sheets are all messy, it just wasn't stuff that you should have had to ask your _Ma_ about. But on the other hand, they put her through it and the good Lord is now putting them through it. Ah, sweet, mocking revenge.

"A father is an important person in a little girl's life. They fear bringin' their first boyfriend home, they practice their puppy dog eyes on ye for the first eighteen year of their life, and havin' ye there makes them respect themselves more, and they don't go off and marry the first wop that drops too his knee. Boys, I know ye don't see it now, but children, even bloody well _twins_, are a beautiful thing." She settled back into her chair after her little speech, surprised that she touched her own heart with those words. Connor was sold, she could see it now. It was Murphy she had to worry about. She looked over at her younger son. He was cradling the little girl to his side, looking at her with glazed eyes, as if he were truly trying to picture all the things that she had described. He absently rubbed the little one's head, his fingers stroking her head softly, as if he were afraid she would break. Finally he looked up at his brother, his eyes unguarded and wide.

She watched as they did their twin thing, their voices probably soft and hushed, even if they couldn't really hear eachother. She watched as Murphy's eyes flickered back and forth from the grain on the table to the pleading look in his brother's eyes. Connor's lips would draw together and release, pinch a bit in the corners, then smooth out. She didn't know what this meant in their language, but she knew it was something good.

"Oh fuck," Murphy muttered, hanging his head to gaze at the little girl again. He knew he had been defeated the moment Ma had brought Da into it. The woman just couldn't let somethings go, and boy could she nail their weaknesses right to the back of their heads.

"Fine. Just, fine. But what the hell do we call 'em? Babies get names right?" He asked sheepishly when his brother threw him a trademark smirk, openly mocking him for being the one to think of names. His brother shook with silent chuckles.

"Oh, fuck you Conn," he bit out only half-heartedly. Their Ma slammed her hands down on the table, startling a cry from both her sons, and the children they held. She pointed a shaking finger at both her sons, switching back and forth.

"Watch yer mouths. Both of ye. None of this, _fuck you Conn, _or _suck me fuckin' cock Murph_, none of that shit ye pulled when ye lived under me roof. I'd like these girls to also have respect for the Lord's name." She pointedly looked at both of them. They both smiled and nodded sheepishly, but she'd bet her left hand that they both had their fingers crossed under those little ones. Blasphimy.

"Names," Connor said, rolling the word on his tongue. He looked around the house, as though he would name the children after the furniture. Murphy's eyes followed his as he looked around the room, finally coming to a stop at a chain that hung above the door to his mother's bedroom.

"Enya," he said, trying the sound on his tongue. The chain that hung above his mother's room held a carving of the 5th century Irish saint, Eithne, often called Enya, who followed Saint Patrick. He looked at is mother, who slowly nodded her head, smiling softly with approval. Connor continued to let his eyes roam around the room, searching for something.

"Well if you want to name 'em after Saints," their mother spoke, and they looked at her, waiting for a suggestion. The grin on their mother's face however did not make them feel any better.

"Keelan was the name of many Saints," she said, her grin getting larger. The boys scowled at her. Connor gave his mother a look.

"Ma, that's a boy's name." Connor said, looking as though his mother had lost her damn mind. She looked at him smugly, but not with her large wolfish grin.

"Keelan was the name of many _female_ Saints ye little bastard." She laughed at him, loving to get a rile out of her son every now and again. Connor looked as though he swallowed his last retort and instead gazed down at the little girl in his arm, looking like an identical carving of his brother who sat across the table.

"You know this ain't gonna be easy," Murphy said softly, speaking to his brother, but still gazing at the yawning little one in his arms. He was looking, so he couldn't have seen Connor's nod, but their Ma knew he had saw. She let them bask in the glory of knowing what taking on responsibility was. She let them revel in the warm fuzzy feeling that they felt now in their chests, and it would come again everytime they looked at the girls. She let them have the silence to swear to God that they wouldn't leave their little girls like their Da had left them. She stood and moved to the stove to put on some tea.

"I'll call ye Uncle Aengus tomorrow about gettin' ye a job up at his farm. Ye can help with the cows, and the harvestin' and-"

"Ma, ma. Slow down woman. What on earth is ye babblin' about?" Connor said, tearing his gaze away from the child for the first time in ten minutes. Murphy was too gazing up at her.

"Whut? You dun't think fer one moment yer gonna be playing "God's Assassins" while yer raisin these girls are ye?" The boys looked at her dumbfounded. She turned back to the stove so they couldn't see her smile.

"And even here in Ireland, you two boys are wanted men. It'd be best if ye changed yer names, don't ye think?" she said pouring the tea.

"Aye mother, but what should we change our names to? We didn't exactly come here prepared." Murpy said, shifting so he could try and see his mother closely. The woman was up to something; it sent a chill running through the twins' bones just to think about it.

"You'll be the Moloney family. An old family with that name died a few months ago. As far as anyone is concerned, ye," she said pointing to Connor as she served the tea. "Are his only son. And ye," she said, turning to Murphy, "Are his cousin. I don't care what kind of sob story ye give to the locals, just keep it right and don't screw up." She said giving them another pointed look.

Connor and Murphy looked almost overwhelmed at all of this their mother was putting on them. They looked like they wanted to protest, but they both soon realized there was no point in even questioning their mother and her sources anymore. So they both settled back and held their now (finally) sleeping children, sipping slowly on hot tea. Connor looked over at his mother, who looked ever so like the cat that got the canary.

"Way to kill the "New Father" mood Ma."


End file.
